


As a Promise, Spring

by ignipes



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-19
Updated: 2006-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two cells over there's a new kid, a kid who doesn't know the storms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As a Promise, Spring

There is a storm on the water.

Up and balance. Two steps, like tripping. He digs fingers and toes into the stone, into the cracks, pulls himself up. Hands around bars, cool salt breeze on his face. On the horizon the sun is low, red and orange, trapped beneath a ceiling of dark clouds.

_Closer, closer,_ he whispers. Dry lips, dry tongue. _Closer, closer._

Below, the surf is violent on the rocks but not loud enough. There is a new kid two cells over, a kid with a memory: _said she loved me, said she loved me, I didn't mean it, oh god, she said_.

He'll go quiet when the storm arrives.

His limbs begin to tremble. Fingers and toes, caught in cracks, friction on rough stone holding him up. Slowly he lowers himself and leans against the wall. He lifts his fingers to his mouth to taste the rust, inhales to smell the oncoming storm.

He'll go quiet. They always do.

-

The storm blows the casement open. He tries to sit up, but an arm snakes across his middle and pulls him back down.

_Floor will get wet,_ he murmurs, turning his face to the side, cheek against the pillow.

_April showers,_ Remus replies, pushing himself up on his elbows. He ducks his head and kisses to Sirius' chest, his breath warm and feather-soft. His words are a low, rumbling tickle against skin: _No harm. We're not going to melt._

We might, Sirius thinks, but he says nothing, closes his eyes and arches his back, pressing into Remus' mouth, twining his hand in Remus' hair. Ribs, belly, navel, heart. The wind gusts suddenly, showering them with cold raindrops. Shoulders, arms, neck, silent, wet, open-mouthed footsteps across his skin, randomly placed, a pattern he can't follow. Say something, Sirius thinks, something with words, but the plea catches in his throat and lies heavy on his tongue.

_Floor will get wet._ He releases Remus' hair, shifts, nudges a grasping hand aside. He sits up and swings his feet to the floor, stands unsteadily. Two steps to the window, blurred with sleep and motion, and he catches the window ledge, almost like falling.

He stands naked at the window for a minute, two, three, listening to the rain flood the street, to the quiet music from the flat above. As always: low sultry jazz, syncopated rhythm and creaking floorboards.

Do you think they dance? he thought of asking months ago. Do you think they dance, that old bloke and his girl that have lived here forever, always with the music up too loud?

Summer or autumn or winter, he would have asked, but not now.

He shuts the window with _crack_ \-- wood on wood, music chased away -- and slides the latch into place.

-

Two cells over there's a new kid, a kid who doesn't know the storms.

Sunlight fades, black clouds roll in. The sea is furious below, grinding stones with foam-white teeth, deafening and churning.

_Oh god, oh god, she said she loved me, she promised--_

He lies down, face pressed against stone. Even with his eyes closed he can see the lightning flash, and the floor trembles when the thunder rips and explodes and crackles all around.

_\--she said, she said, swallowed the potion and said she loved me, oh god help me--_

Strange how the fortress comes alive during the storms, he thinks, drawing small circles in the rainwater on the floor.

He touches the tip of his finger to his tongue, tastes stone and rain and the sharp, bitter flavour of spring.

Say something, he thinks, walking his fingers across the stone. Fingertips, knuckles, palm, wrist. He opens his eyes to watch the little ripples of motion, to wince in the flashes of light. Say something with words.

The kid is quiet now. They always are.


End file.
